


say something really fucking charming and witty and seductive

by Prim_the_Amazing



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Dirty Talk, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-12-01 20:04:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11493777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prim_the_Amazing/pseuds/Prim_the_Amazing
Summary: He gulps down air, opens his mouth to try again, and it just so happens that in that very moment that Wash’s strokes from the base of his shaft towards his head, firm and dragging. Tucker bites his tongue so hard he can taste copper, and it’s then that with the minute movement of the corner of Wash’s mouth ticking upwards that he realizes what the fuck is going on. Wash’s eyes are fixed on Tucker’s face, and while he’d normally assume aesthetic admiration and/or jealousy to be taking place, that smug-and-barely-trying-to-hide-it expression is impossible to miss or mistake. It’s the same face he wears when he waits for someone to take a sip of something before he says something shocking, something unexpected, just fucking waiting for that spit take. The son of a bitch is waiting for Tucker to open his mouth before he pounces and does something wonderful to his dick to shut him up before he can even get started. What gives, his dirty talk's awesome!





	say something really fucking charming and witty and seductive

**Author's Note:**

> For @Madqueenalanna. Prompt: Tuckington or Grimmons mutual masturbation with dirty talk

Wash doesn’t have soft hands. Two of the fingers are a little crooked where they broke sharply and were set a little amateurishly, just a touch off. There are some raised lines and bumps of scarring, and shit, it’s a miracle he still has all of his fingers, really. His skilled, wonderful fingers. They’re covered in calluses too, and Tucker identifies the causes as said hands run over his bare skin, his shirt inadvertently sliding upwards along with Wash’s hands, the both of them in too much of a hurry to bother entirely unclothing. Rifle, knife, handgun-- 

He doesn’t get the time to identify too many causes before Wash’s nimble,  _ glorious  _ fingers abandon his fucking awesome chest in favor of undoing his button with a dexterous flick of his digits and shoving his warm palm down Tucker’s underwear, zipper sliding eagerly open all on its own thanks to the pressure, much like Tucker’s legs. After that, thinking gets a little bit challenging. 

He tries anyways. 

_ “Fuuuh,  _ Wash, baby--” He’s about to say something really fucking charming and witty and seductive, but then Wash’s hand encircles Tucker’s dick and he can feel the ever so slightly raised thin line of a scar on Wash’s right palm against his shaft, hard to even see in good lighting, probably inflicted thanks to the shitty instinctive reaction of protecting your eyes with your hand instead of just properly dodging when something lunges for your eyes that Wash is still drilling out of him. A knife attack. Why does being able to feel that faint scar so vividly knock the breath out of him? 

He gulps down air, opens his mouth to try again, and it just so happens that in that very moment that Wash’s strokes from the base of his shaft towards his head, firm and dragging. Tucker bites his tongue so hard he can taste copper, and it’s then that with the minute movement of the corner of Wash’s mouth ticking upwards that he realizes what the fuck is going on. Wash’s eyes are fixed on Tucker’s face, and while he’d normally assume aesthetic admiration and/or jealousy to be taking place, that smug-and-barely-trying-to-hide-it expression is impossible to miss or mistake. It’s the same face he wears when he waits for someone to take a sip of something before he says something shocking, something unexpected, just fucking waiting for that spit take. The son of a bitch is waiting for Tucker to open his mouth before he pounces and does something wonderful to his dick to shut him up before he can even get started. What gives, his dirty talk's awesome! 

“I’m onto you, you-- _ ah,” _ he says, interrupted by Wash’s thumb. The only reason he managed to get so many words out in the first place was because he’d braced himself for it, prepared. A full sentence though, that’s too much to ask when Wash’s thumb is circling the sensitive head of his prick. 

“Onto me?” Wash asks mock innocently. “I’m sorry Tucker, but I’m afraid I don’t understand. Could you elaborate?” 

Tucker glares at him silently, breathing heavily, knowing what would come of that. His hands move. 

Wash leans in closer, his lips a hair's breadth away from Tucker’s. “Could you at least tell me what I am? You cut off at the end there, a little.” 

They both know he can’t avoid bait as blatant as  _ that. _

“You’re a filthy--” he starts to purr, and his breath hitches as Wash starts to stroke up and down, hand sufficiently wet from Tucker’s precome. Tucker gropes him back, hand diving into Wash’s pants and palming at his package, the base of his wrist pressed against Wash’s pubes, his hand already gliding down the smoothest, most untouched part of the Freelancer’s body. Wash’s sure movements stutter, and Tucker recovers enough of his presence of mind to finish. “--filthy  _ cheater.  _ Two can play at that game though. You’re looking at the guy who was the ‘other man’ of at least eight different married women for two unbroken months.” 

Wash groans, and it’s part suffering and part pleasure. That’s just how Tucker rolls. “That’s  _ not _ hot, Tucker.” 

“Impressive though, which is basically hot.” 

“The last thing I want to think about when we’ve got each other’s hand down our pants is half a dozen--” 

_ “Eight.”  _

“--cougars crawling all over you.” 

“While I am basically sex cat nips for the ladies, I’ve gotta admit I never had enough game to swing an eightsome with them all at the same time. Mrs. Smith and Robinson were exploring themselves sexually though, so _ two _ cougars were crawling all over me at least--” 

Wash bites at Tucker’s lips with a vengeance, rough and sexy, and his hand pumps faster. Tucker closes his eyes because he’s not so sure his eyes rolling back into his head is all that attractive. 

He abandons the higher thinking necessary for coming up with sweet fucking lines while someone’s got their hand on his cock, and just focuses and matching Wash’s punishing rhythm, hard and fast and _ so fucking good babe yeah like that.  _

“Now that’s the kind of dirty talk I can get behind,” Wash breathes against Tucker’s lips, and he doesn’t have the time to register his words because that shit felt almost more delicious than making out and how does Wash keep managing to find different ways to do stuff like this to him? He could totally take him apart,  _ fuck, fuck, Wash--  _

“It figures,” Wash mumbles breathlessly as he’s sucking and kissing and nibbling his way down Tucker’s neck, giving his jawline parting kisses as he leaves Tucker’s lips behind, “that you’d be good at this as soon as you stopped trying so hard.” 

“Try-- tried, tried what?” he asks, disoriented and dizzy and climbing his way steadily up towards the peak, he can feel it. 

“Never mind,” Wash says, and then Tucker by some sort of miracle thinks to start using his  _ other  _ hand, and it slips away from Wash’s hip, underneath his shirt, upwards, and  _ homebase!  _ Homebase being Wash’s nipple. He massages it with his numb, pinches it when he judges that it's pert enough, and then Wash lets out an involuntary moan and that’s it, that’s the end for Tucker. He comes, and by the time the fog starts clearing out of his head Wash has got a hand down into his own pants, fingers threading and joining Tucker’s, and he’s guiding their hands up and down, showing Tucker the exact pressure he wants, the speed, shit he even manages to make a simple handjob insanely hot  _ how you do that Wash how are you so fucking perfect I love you-- _

Wash comes. 

Was it something he said? 


End file.
